Convergence
by Greyleaf
Summary: Sometimes, people and events in your life just seem to come together all at once and in the same place. For most people, this can be a good thing. For Reese and Finch, however…Rated T for language, Adult topics and descriptions of violence. J Reese, H Finch, Z Morgan, original characters. Are there other POI characters? And what about Relationships? Read and see…
1. Chapter 1

Ch. 1

Reese was dozing when his phone did its little vibrating dance. He tried not to wake his bed companion, but, since he'd ended up on the other side this time, he had to reach across her to retrieve the phone from the night stand. The sleeping woman stirred a little then raised her head to blink sleepily at him.

"Sorry," he said softly, pausing to kiss her bare shoulder before he settled back into his spot next to her, phone in hand.

"'S'okay." Zoë propped herself up on one elbow and pushed her hair back from her face. _I'm getting used to it_, her look said. "So, mom again?"

Reese smirked. "Now, now," he said as he looked at the phone's display. "Finch only contacts me this early when it's necessary." He paused to read the message then set the phone on the stand next to him and settled back. "He got Fusco to take care of that case yesterday."

Zoë sighed. She moved over to snuggle against him, warm and inviting, and rested her chin on his shoulder. "I know," she said throatily as she trailed a finger down the side of his neck, then his chest, his stomach, zigzagging as it went. "It's just that I had a special breakfast planned." Her finger stopped to twirl the hairs of his groin.

He smiled. "'Special' breakfast?" He shifted so he could use his free hand to stroke her neck with his fingertips. "Does it involve syrup?"

Her smile was sensuous. "Maybe."

Reese ran his hand lightly back over her shoulder, then between her shoulder blades, continuing down to stop at the small of her back. "What flavor?" he asked softly as he leaned forward and brushed his lips across hers. His fingers traced a lazy circle on what he knew was a sensitive spot. He smiled against her lips when her breath caught.

"No fair," she muttered.

"You started it."

She pulled away to favor him with a crooked smile. "Well, then. For that, you'll just have to wonder about the flavors."

He grinned at her as her got out of bed and headed to the bathroom. A thought made him stop and look back.

"Did you say 'flavors'?"

Early as it was, Finch's message had implied that there wasn't a need to rush, so Reese had taken the time to swing by his place to change clothes. Another black suit, but clean.

He found his employer sitting in his usual spot in front of the monitors and typing on the keyboard. Bear, too, was in his usual spot near Finch's feet, chewing on what appeared to be a new toy, stopping to watch Reese walk towards him, ears pricked forward. Finch smiled his thanks as Reese set down the cup of tea he'd brought. Bear sat up to get his customary ear scratch and treat. When Reese straightened, he found that Finch had turned his chair and was looking up at him, drink in hand.

"Pleasant evening, Mr. Reese?" Finch took a sip from his cup.

"Yes, Finch," Reese returned, keeping his expression neutral. "You?" This exchange had become fairly routine for the two of them ever since they had informally acknowledged their extraprofessional relationships*. Reese wasn't sure if it was an attempt on Finch's part at teasing humor or if he was trying to keep the subject at arm's length, but Reese was happy to play along.

Finch smiled a little, his gaze momentarily focused on something distant. "Yes, thank you." He took another sip of his tea.

Hiding his amusement, Reese walked to the cracked glass divider. There were three photos, a woman and two men, and two news articles. He turned his attention to the first of the articles. Written ten months ago, it was a column that listed various up and coming businesses: what they did, their owners or partners, contact information. The second one, written last week, was announcing the ribbon cutting on a new office for the media arm of the Russian government. The date for the event was the next night. Reese's attention flicked back and forth between the two articles, looking for a commonality, aware that Finch was waiting for him to say something.

"So, KM Designs landed the contract to design the new office of the Gazeta." Reese turned to look at Finch. "A contract with a foreign government. That's quite a coup for a new company."

"Yes. The owner, Kendis Miller, managed to beat out a number of more established companies for the job. The older article says that her company specializes in office solutions, which usually means just the equipment. KM Designs, however, does much more than that – they design the office lay out, the lighting, the wall colors, the flooring, restroom fixtures. Everything. All _very_ high end."

Reese's attention now turned to the photos. Kendis Miller was African-American, probably in her mid-thirties, her features played up by her close-cropped natural hair. The photo was in color and obviously professionally done; probably a publicity shot for the company website. "So, she's our Number?"

"Yes. The next photo is Quinn Garrett." This, too, was a publicity photo. Garret was younger, mid–twenties, with thick dark hair, pale complexion and startlingly blue eyes. "Ms. Miller hired him two years ago to be her assistant and he rapidly became her principal designer. He's just as integral to the company's success as she."

"So, who's this?" Reese tapped the remaining picture. Unlike the other two, it didn't have the same professional feel. It was of a similarly aged man, also dark haired, but with dark eyes and a carefully groomed day's growth of beard. "Another employee?"

"Isidro Olivar. Garret's ex boyfriend."

Reese turned to look at Finch. "'Ex'?"

"They had an _extremely_ public break up on Twitter two days ago."

"It must be helpful for you when people conduct their personal lives in the social media," Reese commented dryly.

"Mr. Olivar apparently thinks Ms. Miller is the cause of the rift between him and Garrett. He even asserted that there was a physical relationship."

"I'm assuming there were threats?"

"Yes. He intimated there could be violent repercussions." Finch paused. "He got rather…graphic. Garret responded by daring Olivar to 'bring it'."

Reese looked again at Garret's photo. He had to admire the young man's moxie, if not his choice of lovers. "I guess it would be prudent to keep an eye on Olivar, then." He was silent for several minutes, studying the photos. "Do you think Garrett could be a threat to Miller?"

"Frankly, no. Nor do I think she'd want him dead; they're not partners, so neither would benefit from the other's death. And, if he was unhappy with his employer, he could leave. He's had headhunters trying to lure him away. But at this point their lives and the company are so intertwined, I can't help but think that there's a connection."

Reese walked over to stand beside the older man. "Have you looked at the possibility that another employee is the threat? Miller's favoritism could cause some resentment."

Finch set his cup down and tapped a few keys, bringing up two more photos on one of the monitors. "There are two other employees. Tim Smith runs the office and does the bookkeeping. They just hired Tim's daughter, Danielle, to assist, well, just about everyone, while she's on summer break." Tim and his daughter, both with auburn hair and green eyes, smiled out at them. "I doubt they are a threat." Finch turned back. "Anything else that needs done is contracted out."

"What about this job for the Gazeta?" Reese looked down at Finch. "Could there be something there?"

"That is what you'll have to find out."

"What about Olivar?"

"Carter's watching him now."

Reese smiled. "How'd you convince her to do that?"

Finch looked smug. "It didn't take much. I passed along the threats he'd made. She's going to see if she can get close enough to plant one of our tracking devices on him. If she can, I can monitor him from here." Finch picked up a piece of paper from the table and handed it to Reese.

"What's this?" Reese looked at the paper. There was an address and a time, 9:30am, written on it.

"You have an appointment this morning with Ms. Miller."

"I do?"

Finch's mouth twitched. "Yes. Your 'assistant', Mr. Bellenger, made the arrangements. He was able to convince her that it would be in her interest to spare half an hour out of her incredibly busy schedule in order to meet with you to discuss whether KM Designs would be interested in being hired to remodel one of your employer's offices."

Reese raised an eyebrow, then looked around the room they were in. "What, you've gotten tired of …this?" His gesture took in the stacks of books, old worn tables and shelves, a couple of aged wooden chairs and the wires and cables of the various computer components.

Finch stood up and retrieved a tablet from the other end of the table. He put a thumb drive into the USB port and handed it to Reese. "I do have other actual offices. And this one definitely needs work."

The screen indeed showed an actual office, but not one that Reese recognized. "Do I have a budget?" he asked as he scrolled through a dozen or so pictures, all of them apparently of the same set of rooms from different angles. There was also a list of computer and office equipment and the last image was a blueprint of the entire office layout.

"You won't really be negotiating anything, Reese."

He looked up from the tablet. "But, I'll need to give the impression that 'my employer' is serious."

Finch looked at him blandly. Sitting down again, he said, "Your 'assistant' already conveyed that message. Hence your appointment."

Standing in the waiting room, the offices of KM Designs impressed Reese immediately. Taking up only a part of the fourth floor of a twenty-story building, they were set up in such a way that a visitor would not realize just how small they were. They were uncluttered, functional and well lit without being stark, cold or overly bright.

Danielle Smith, who had met him at the elevator to escort him to Miller's office, was probably nineteen or twenty and dressed in a simple blue business suit. She did a fair job at being the professional office assistant until she giggled a little at his comment about the rather wooden security clerk four floors down in the main lobby.

"He is kind of stiff." She dropped her voice. "My dad says that Frankenstein's monster was more animated."

Reese smiled. "I think your father's right," he replied, keeping his voice low as well.

"Mr. Rooney?"

Reese and Danielle looked up to find Kendis Miller walking down the hall towards them. Reese shifted his smile from conspiratorial to corporately pleasant and he stepped in front of Danielle to give her time to do the same.

"Ms. Miller." Reese shook her proffered hand. "I'm so glad you could make time to see me."

Kendis Miller was a commanding presence. She was dressed in a well tailored black suit jacket with a matching skirt, her electric blue shirt a striking accent that also complemented her richly dark skin; her three inch heels and angular features made her seem taller than she was. But Miller's most impressive features were her self-confidence and intensity. No doubt this was why she was able to win the Gazeta contract over other, more seasoned, businesses. This intensity was little diminished by her warm smile.

"My pleasure, Mr. Rooney." Miller craned her neck a little trying to see past Reese. He moved aside and Miller addressed the young woman. "Thanks, Danielle. I'll take Mr. Rooney to my office."

Danielle, having recovered her professional expression, nodded her head.

"Thank you, Danielle," Reese said, still in his pleasant voice and shooting her a quick grin.

Miller and Reese walked slowly toward the glass doors that formed the end of the deceptively short hallway.

"Again, thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Ms. Miller."

"Well, your assistant, Mr. Bellenger, was quite persistent. _And_ persuasive."

"Yes, he can be." Reese smiled at this description of Finch. "That's why I hired him."

The hallway was formed by the glass walls of a conference room - complete with a table, chairs and a large viewing screen on the opposite end - on one side and individual offices on the other. The first office, with an unobstructed view of the front desk, was occupied by Tim Smith. He glanced up and gave a quick grin and a nod as they passed and then returned to his computer monitor. The wall between the first and second offices were also glass, but opaque, giving a sense of openness and privacy at the same time.

That second office, the one next to Miller's, was unoccupied when Reese paused to look, but its desk and walls were covered with papers. "My designer is out at a site at the moment," Miller explained. "He should be back soon."

"It seems as if everyone is very busy," Reese commented as they entered Miller's office.

"Yes, we all are," Miller said, somewhat pointedly. "We're just putting the finishing touches on a project. The ribbon cutting is tomorrow, so it's pretty much crunch time for us."

"Then, perhaps I should get to the purpose for my visit." He handed her the thumb drive. "Here are the photos of the office my employers wish to have remodeled."

As she moved to the chair on the other side of her desk, Reese glanced around the modestly sized space. Behind Miller's desk was a window that added quite a bit of natural light. Other than the desk and attendant chairs, there was no other furniture in the office. On the wall to the right of the desk was a large digital photo display on which images slowly appeared and then dissolved into the next. "That's impressive Ms. Miller. Would you mind …" Reese said, gesturing toward the frame.

Miller smiled. "Of course, Mr. Rooney. I'll want a few minutes to look at these, anyway." She sat, opening up her laptop and inserting the drive. Her attention turned to the computer screen, a small frown line appearing between her brows as she scrolled through the photos.

Reese walked over to take a closer look at the digital frame. It was at least forty inches wide and was the most prominent feature of the office, its dark cherry wood adding a certain elegance to what would otherwise be, in his opinion, just an electronic gimmick. The current image, an African inspired batik of women dancing, was replaced by a photo of a mural he recognized as a piece of Mexican public art. He touched a corner of the frame and looked behind it, as if checking the thickness.

"I take it this is the blueprint for the office suite, Mr. Rooney?"

Reese turned around. "Yes." He walked over to sit in the chair in front of Miller's desk. "It's not very large, but as you can see, it's in need of work."

Miller smiled. "It _is_ a little outdated." She pushed the laptop aside and turned her attention to Reese, setting her loosely clasped hands on the desk top. "Well, Mr. Rooney, as I told your assistant, we're very busy right now, so I'm afraid we won't be able to get you even a preliminary plan until next week."

Reese smiled back. "I quite understand, Ms. Miller." He paused. "I think I should tell you that I'm here to not only see if you would be interested in this project, but to…get a feel for your company, as well. My employers have heard good things about KM Designs, but, they like to have a first hand account of any company with which they intend to do business."

Miller looked at him silently for a moment and Reese briefly wondered if he had over-played his role. Then he noticed a slight lift to the corner of her mouth.

"I see." She leaned back a little. "Especially since we are a young company. And, given the amount of money your assistant implied would be put into this project," she tapped the laptop, "your employers want to be sure that we are a company that can be trusted to deliver."

Reese shrugged. Smiling enigmatically, he said, "I'm sure you can appreciate their caution."

Miller's own smile became a little more evident. "Of course, Mr. Rooney." She leaned forward, her gaze never once leaving his face. "And, I'm sure that they will understand that I will also be looking into your company, as well."

Reese returned her look for a moment. Reaching into his coat pocket, he retrieved another thumb drive and handed it to her. "This contains a summary of our company's business profile, the names of the officers and the locations of our various offices."

Miller took the drive, eyebrow raised. "You came prepared." She set the drive on her desk. "We will, of course, run our own background check."

Reese nodded. "My employers will be pleased to know that you share their view on caution."

Miller smiled and relaxed a little. "Well, Mr. Rooney, since you're here, let's see what we can do to facilitate your 'reconnaissance'." She stood, removing the thumb drive from the laptop and dropping it in her pocket. "Would you like to meet the rest of the company?"

While Reese and Miller had been coming to an understanding, Quinn Garret had returned and was sitting at his desk. He stood to shake Reese's hand as Miller made the introductions. "Mr. Rooney's company is considering hiring us to remodel one of their offices. He's brought photos for us to use in order to come up with some ideas. Mr. Rooney," Miller paused, her smile giving her an impish look, "is here to check us out."

Garret blinked. "Well," he said after a moment, "Please don't judge our work by _my_ office." He gestured to his desk and the various notes and photos stacked up on the desk around his monitors. There were more on the wall next to the desk. "We're just wrapping up a huge project, so things are a little disrupted."

"Ms. Miller told me that that the ribbon cutting is tomorrow?" Reese replied.

Garret nodded. "Maybe you would like to come by? I'm sure we can get you an invitation," he added, looking at Miller for confirmation.

"Of course," Miller said. "That way you can see our work first hand and you can make a more thorough report."

"Is there some way I could see the office before that?" When Miller hesitated, he smiled apologetically. "I'd like to see it when it isn't full of people."

Miller and Garret glanced at each other.

"We'd love to accommodate you, Mr. Rooney. But, I'm afraid it won't be possible."

"Oh?"

Miller hesitated again. "There's going to be a …private showing this afternoon for some dignitaries. As it is, we're scrambling to get a few details finished up before that."

Reese nodded. "I quite understand. I'll take you up on the invitation for tomorrow." Reese turned back to Garret. "That photo looks the same as one I saw in Ms. Miller's office." Reese gestured to the frame tucked back slightly behind one of the monitors, almost hidden by note papers. It was the same one of the Mexican mural. "Did you take it?"

After a moment's hesitation, Garret reached over and picked it up. "Yes." He handed it to Reese. "On my last trip to visit the family of…a friend. They live in Mexico City."

"It's a beautiful city." Reese said, handing the frame back. "I hope it was a good trip."

"Parts of it were," Garret commented, his eyes hooded.

Reese nodded. "Well. I've taken up enough of your time. I hope we'll be working together, soon," he said, shaking Garret's hand again.

After a brief stop in Tim Smith's office for introductions, Miller escorted Reese to the front lobby. They discussed when she would be able to come up with some preliminary plans, settling on Wednesday of the next week. They exchanged business cards.

"I'll contact you about color schemes and fabric choices before then." Miller said as they stood in front of the door. Danielle stood nearby, waiting to see Reese to the elevator. "Do your employers want to stay with a similar color palette?"

"You know, they didn't say," Reese's smile was conspiratorial. "It might be a good idea to have some more colorful options, as well. Maybe we could convince them to try something a little …bolder."

Miller looked pleased. "Good. That always makes it more interesting."

Finch expected Miller to go back to Garret's office after she'd said goodbye to Reese. He wasn't disappointed.

But, he was concerned that the listening device Reese planted on Garret's picture frame would be discovered or knocked loose. From the sounds, Garret hadn't set the photo back. He was apparently still holding it when Miller returned; Finch could hear her heels tapping down the hallway then stop.

"Quinn? You okay?"

"Yeah." The young man wasn't a very good liar – even Finch, a stranger, could tell. "I was just thinking I should have gotten rid of this damned thing." The frame clattered alarmingly as it was dropped on the desk. Finch held his breath as he listened, hoping the bug wasn't damaged. And that it hadn't landed in such a way that it couldn't pick up anything. There was silence for long enough that he was sure the bug was lost, then he heard Garret take a steadying breath.

"So, was that the guy you told me about?"

There was the sound of a chair being pulled across the floor. "Yep. He gave us these photos and a blueprint of the offices. Want to take a quick look?"

There was silence for a few moments. Then -

"Well?" Miller said. "What do you think?"

"Seems pretty straight forward." Garret sounded tired; something he'd been able to keep from his voice during Reese's visit. "It'll be nice to have something simple after this ordeal." He sighed. "I was hoping to have a little time off, though, before the next job."

"I know. But, we can't afford to turn down any jobs at this point." Miller seemed genuinely sympathetic. "Later, when we've established ourselves, we can afford to pick and choose. I'm expecting this job for the Gazeta will go a long way toward that." There was a pause. Then, "I know you weren't happy doing this one, Quinn. And I know it added to your problems with Isidro. I want you to know I appreciate that you were able to put aside your feelings. You've done a great job and the offices are beautiful."

"Yeah. You know, I didn't say anything because you'd pointed out how important this contract was." Quinn's voice had a bitter note. "But, I think the real reason they picked us over the other bids was so that they could show just how 'progressive' and 'tolerant' they are."

There was a rustle of fabric. Miller must have leaned a little closer to Quinn – even though she spoke softly, her words where still clearly picked up by the bug. "You think I don't know that?" There was some venom in the cadence and tone of her voice. "You and I have both had to deal with people who would rather stick their hands in flaming coals than to use them to shake ours. They try to hide it, but you can tell. I've had to put up with that most of my life. But, you know what? I don't care. It's their problem, not ours." Another brief pause. "It's almost over. After this week, we'll be done with them. We will have proven how professional we are, delivering a damn good job in spite having to do it for assholes."

Garret's short laugh was more of a snort." Well, I hope it's worth it."

"It will be. I'll make sure of that. And I promise we won't do another job for a person or group that wouldn't want us to marry their sons."

Garrett's surprised laughter was infectious and Miller joined him. Finch found himself grinning.

Miller, sounding amused, asked, "Will everything be ready for the viewing this evening?"

Still chuckling, he paused and took a deep breath. "Yeah. They're just finished up the last touches. We're good to go."

"That problem with the lighting taken care of?"

"The lighting, the bathroom fixtures. That little table in the lobby. All done." He stopped. "I'm sorry I can't be there with you for this. If it weren't my niece's recital…"

"Don't worry about it," Miller said, talking over his apology. "Family's important. It'll be fine. Besides, you'll be there for the grand unveiling tomorrow." Finch heard the chair slide back. "We'll put on a show of solidarity." The sound of her retreating steps stopped. "You sure you'll be okay?"

"Yeah."

Miller's footsteps faded away.

"I'll be fine." Garret said softly, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself.

"Finch?" Reese's voice spoke in his ear. "Are you able to hear anything?"

"Reese. Where are you?"

"I'm down in the lobby. I thought I'd stay close until we decide on our next move."

"What I've heard so far leads me to believe that Miller and Garret, especially, aren't too pleased with they're dealings with their current employers."

"I'm actually surprised that they took the job, given all of the negative press the Russian Government has been getting concerning their anti-homosexual stand."

"The Gazeta project was well underway when the official Russian position came to light. No doubt KM Designs was compelled to complete the contract." Finch paused to look at an alert that appeared on one of his monitors. "It appears that Miller has decided to look at the drive you gave her – the one that has the information about your 'company'."

"How do you…" Reese stopped. "You put a Trojan on that drive."

"Both of them, actually. You sound surprised." Finch watched as information began to show up on his monitors.

"I am, a little. Isn't that risking exposure if their anti-intrusion software discovers it? They'll know where it came from."

"Don't worry, Reese," Finch said as he scanned the data that was scrolling up the screen. "It's just a passive information collector. It will disappear in ten minutes. They'll never know it was there." Finch spotted what he wanted. "This private showing they have for the 'dignitaries' today? It's at 6pm. This is interesting."

"What is?"

Finch sat back a little. "An aide to the Russian ambassador and his secretary will be the ones given the special tour. They're probably keeping it quiet in an attempt to keep up the illusion of the Gazeta's 'independence' from the Russian government. Do you think this changes our threat assessment?"

Reese was silent for a moment. "I can't see the Russians being the threat. Do you think they could be the target?"

Finch looked at Miller's photo a few feet away on the glass divider. "No. The Machine would not consider the Russians 'irrelevant'. If it was Miller's intent to assassinate them, _we_ would not have received her number." Finch leaned back in his chair. "So, it looks as if we're back to square one."

There was a pause as they both digested this.

"Is Carter still tailing Olivar?"

Finch leaned forward to hit a key, bringing up a GPS map with Carter's location. "Yes. The last time she checked in, she said that she felt she needed to stay with him. He's trying to drum up sympathy among his friends and acquaintances. Apparently, this requires consuming large amounts of alcohol. She's concerned this might impair someone's judgment to the point of pursuing retribution on Olivar's behalf. Right now, they are in a bar several miles from Miller's office."

Reese had bought a cup of coffee from the kiosk in the main lobby and found a spot where he could watch the elevator doors while he nursed his cup. The listening device that he had planted on the digital display's frame allowed Finch to keep him informed on Miller's side of several conversations with various contractors. Finch also gave him progress reports on Carter's surveillance of Olivar and company, hoping they would give her a reason to have them busted.

Saying he hated this part of the job would be too strong a word. But, he had to admit that waiting patiently was never something he did well. Not that anyone would be able to tell. He'd learned the skill of masking his emotions under the sharp-tongued tutelage of his old partner, Kara Stanton. He'd internalized it so well, in fact, it had become as much a part of his outward appearance as his suits. Then when he'd learned that Jessica had died…

It had taken the new job Finch had given him to bring him back to his humanity. He found that his ability to be concerned for others, his compassion - something that he'd thought for sure had been bludgeoned from his soul - was still there. And he knew that this was why he was able to have a relationship with Zoë.

Reese took a sip of his coffee to hide the smile he allowed himself. They weren't in love; of that he was sure. But, in the few quiet moments he had here and there - when he wasn't taking stock of exits, possible suspects, who might be armed and with what as well as keeping mental inventory of his own hardware and ammo - he found his thoughts would turn to her and their time together. And, as much as this job gave his life meaning, it was nice to have something else as well.

"Reese?"

"Finch."

The older man must have picked up on something in Reese's tone. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No. Just…thinking."

Finch took a moment to respond, as if not sure what to make of that statement. "Garrett's on his way to his niece's recital."

Reese nodded to himself as he saw the elevator doors open and Garrett emerged, walking briskly outside to the taxi stand. "I see him."

"Just after he left, Miller received a call from the Ambassador's liaison moving up the time of the meeting. The ambassador's aide and secretary will be there in two hours. She's told Smith that's she's going over now to make sure everything is ready." The tone of Finch's voice told Reese that they both had the same thought.

Reese rose from his chair and headed toward the stairway that lead to the garage below the building, dropping his cup in the trash can as he passed. "What's the address?"

*In Remembrance


	2. Chapter 2

The Gazeta's new office occupied the whole of the top floor of a sixteen story building and was on the same street as the Russian embassy. In fact, from where he stood, Reese could just see the green awning over the embassy's entryway, the Russian flag above it stirring a little in the breeze.

Not being concerned with speed limits and traffic laws, he'd managed to get there well ahead of Miller's cab. As he approached the entrance of the building that housed the Gazeta, he looked over the area, but he couldn't see anyone or anything that looked like a threat. Once inside, Reese paused to look around. At first glance the lobby was unremarkable: it was spacious, with a set of elevators both to the left and right of the entrance and an information desk in the center. Reese, however, immediately noticed the two armed security guards, one each standing near the two sets of elevators; the lack of furniture or other impediments to a rapid exit from the building or that might afford cover; the strategically placed security cameras covering the elevators, the entrance and the doors at the back of the lobby that no doubt led to stairwells and the Security Office. Even the burly uniformed man at the information desk was armed – Reese saw the weapon when he stood up to get a brochure for someone.

After watching the people entering and exiting the elevators, Reese walked over to the directory, a digital display on the wall near the entrance. There were six elevators, five of them dedicated to three floors each; the sixth one was for the sixteenth floor only. He glanced at the banks of elevators and located the one he wanted. "I was hoping to check out the Gazeta's offices before Miller arrived, but it has its own elevator and it requires an access badge."

"I don't know that we have time to find you another way in, Reese. I've been tracking Miller's cab since it left her office. She's only a few minutes away."

"Well, I'll just have to get her to take me with her."

"How will you do that?"

Reese was thinking of a pithy response as he started for the doors; he'd only taken a few steps, hyper-aware as usual of all of the people around him, when he spotted someone outside pulling one of the doors open. Reese muttered a single, short, heartfelt word under his breath. Without missing a step, he pivoted and headed back to the directory.

"Reese?"

Finch's surprised tone told him that he'd spoken louder than he'd intended. "Hersh," Reese said, the man's name coming out remarkably like his previous utterance.

"What the hell is he doing there?" Finch was obviously rattled as well.

"To kill Miller?"

Finch started to say something which he cut off. A split second later he said, "She's there."

Reese turned slightly and watched his erstwhile killer approach the elevator that led to the sixteenth floor. Hersh pulled out an access card and swiped it through the reader. The doors opened and Hersh got in. "He just headed up to the Gazeta's offices." Reese stepped to the glass entrance doors. He saw Miller get out of the cab, stopping to pay the driver. "I'm guessing the Gazeta's got its own security cameras. Can you get access?"

There was a brief pause. "Yes."

"I'll meet Miller here in the lobby."

"What are you going to tell her?"

"The truth."

Miller stared at the screen on Reese's phone. Everything about her stance spoke to her incredulity as she watched the live video of Hersh as he walked around inside what appeared to be one of the executive offices.

Reese had taken advantage of her surprise at seeing him, steering her to a corner of the lobby, keeping his body language as non-threatening as he could. The last thing he needed was to have one of the security guards feel compelled to come to her rescue. He'd explained that she was in danger and that she needed to leave as soon as possible, but she seemed to be having trouble believing him. Finch's voice in his ear had said, "I've accessed the cameras in the Gazeta's office. I'll send the feed to your phone."

Now Reese stood next to her as they both watched the video feed. He said, "He had an access badge." Most of the lights in the offices were off, giving the space a quiet, sleepy appearance. Just then, Hersh turned, and the recessed lighting momentarily allowed a good view of his profile. "Do you recognize him?"

Miller, still looking at the image, shook her head. "No. Who is he?"

"His name is Hersh. He kills people for a living."

Miller looked up sharply. Her widened eyes searched his for a moment, as if looking for veracity. It took all of Reese's training to keep from just taking her bodily from the lobby, not waiting for her to make up her mind about him. He knew that the next few seconds were critical and if he was to have her trust he had to let her come to it on her own.

Whatever she was looking for, she must have found, for she handed him the phone, her posture straightening almost imperceptibly. "What the hell is he doing here?"

"That seems to be the question." Reese had been trying to figure that out as well, but his first priority was Miller's safety. "Any idea why someone would want you dead?" Reese refrained from naming Hersh's employer.

"I'm sure I've pissed off any number of people over the years." Reese saw that lift of her mouth's corner. "But, lately? No."

Reese turned away from Miller. "We have to get her out of here," Reese murmured, "and I need a way to get up there."

"Already on it. I have a limo on the way for Miller. There's a service door in back. I should have access to the electronic locks in a few moments and I can interrupt the security camera feed long enough for you to get in."

Reese turned back to Miller, who was now looking as if she was feeling trapped. Probably not a situation she found herself in very often. "You okay?" he asked.

She gave a brief nod. "It's been quite a while since I was in fear for my life. Can't say as I ever liked it."

"There's a limo coming to get you. I know," he said, forestalling her objections. "You have those 'dignitaries' coming in an hour."

Miller, distracted from her own peril for the moment, looked at him, eyebrow raised. "Still prepared, I see."

"We'll have the driver go around the block a few times. You'll be back here in time." He turned slightly to look at the security guards. "Do you think you could chat up one of the guards? At least until your ride shows up." Reese knew that none of the security personnel, armed though they were, would be any match for Hersh, but he felt Miller would be safer in the lobby than out on the street.

Miller's glance flitted around the room, pausing briefly on the guard at the desk. Turning back to Reese, she said, "Sure, but, where will you be?"

"I'm going to have a chat with Hersh."

Reese watched Miller walk over to the front desk and start talking to the guard before he headed to the front doors. Once again, he'd only taken a few steps when Finch spoke in his ear.

"Hersh is leaving, but, he's headed for the stairs, not the elevator. It looks as if he's carrying something."

Reese looked again at the phone's screen. As Hersh passed under one of the overhead lights near the door to the stairway he could see an object with wires and a small packet in his hand. "It's a bomb. He's probably going out the service door to avoid someone seeing it." Reese dropped the phone back in his pocket. "Get me in that service door, Finch. We can't let him leave before I can talk to him."

Hersh came out of the ground floor service door into the small lobby, alert but not for the type of trouble Reese represented. He must have been surprised to see him, but, like Reese, he kept it to himself. If it weren't for the slight widening of his eyes, Reese would have thought they'd had the same tutor. Reese tucked that small satisfaction away to relish later.

Hersh hesitated and Reese could almost see the mental gears working as the Government man assessed his options. Hersh would know he was at a disadvantage. Reese was blocking the back exit; his employers would be expecting him to complete his assignment quickly and without complications. Not to mention the explosive device he was carrying. He would know that Reese was aware of all of this.

And, no doubt, that was really galling.

"Look," Reese said quietly, "we can stand here waiting for the other to make the first move. But, I'm thinking you have a job to do and your …employer is waiting." When Hersh didn't answer, Reese continued. "I don't think you were here to plant that," he said, gesturing to the device in his hands. "Killing Russians would be counter to current diplomatic policy. So, that means you came to remove the bomb. Planted by someone who worked on the remodel? That's who 'gave' you the access badge?" Hersh still stood, mute. Reese tried another tack. "Just one answer and I'll let you go."

Hersh's eyes showed a flicker of interest as he looked directly at Reese. "What do you want to know?"

"Who was the target?"

Reese thought he saw a faint ghost of a memory of a smile on Hersh's face. "The Ambassador's aide."

The two men looked at each other silently for several heartbeats. Then Reese stepped aside, allowing an unimpeded path to the door. As Hersh pushed on the handle, he gave Reese a brief look, then left.

Reese knew that the only reason Hersh didn't try to kill him on sight was that he didn't have standing instructions to do so.

He figured that would change.

Reese stood at the curb, waiting for Miller's limo to return.

"You're sure she's safe now?" Finch apparently was unable to believe that Hersh wasn't the threat.

"Hersh knew where the bomb was. He had an access badge. He knew who the target was. All of which he would have gotten from the bomber."

"Who was one of the contracted workers." Finch paused. "How would the bomb have been detonated?"

"Probably remote control. The bomber or his people would have waited until they were sure their target was in the right place." Reese glanced up at the building behind him. The windows that wrapped the top floor reflected the late afternoon sun. "From the right position, they would have been able to watch him."

"So, Miller wasn't the primary target."

"No. Just another 'irrelevant'." Reese paused. "I'm sure Hersh has neutralized the threat by now." Reese let the implication of that hang between them.

"The limo should be pulling up."

Reese watched as a grey town car pulled up to the curb and stopped. The grey liveried driver got out and quickly walked around to where Reese was standing. She paused to give him a smile.

"John," Sarah said as she opened the door.

"Sarah," Reese responded as he helped Miller out of the car. "I'm surprised to see you."

Sarah shrugged. "Harold knew we were in the area and asked if we could pick up Ms. Miller."

Miller straightened her jacket and turned to Reese. "So, everything's good now? That man is gone?"

Reese was pleased that she had recovered her self-confidence. "Yes. I was able to get in and check out the office. It's safe to go in."

Miller looked at him, her eyebrow raised again. "Do I want to know how you were able to get in without an access badge?"

"No."

Miller pursed her lips, not looking any too pleased with his answer. Then, she shrugged. "Well, it won't be my problem after tomorrow." She offered her hand to Reese. "I want to thank you for your help," she said as they shook hands. "I'm thinking I won't be seeing you again."

Reese smiled. "No. But, someone will be contacting you about that remodel."

Miller appeared pleasantly surprised. Then she turned and, bending over slightly, looked in the still open door of the limo. "Thanks for letting your ride be hijacked."

"No problem, Kendis," a familiar voice responded.

Reese was stunned. He bent down next to Miller to peer in to the car as well.

"I'll keep your card, too. I may be able to steer some business your way," Zoë said. Turning her gaze to Reese she smiled. "Hi, John. Need a ride?"

Reese straightened. Miller was saying goodbye to Sarah, exchanging business cards. Then she turned and headed into the building.

Reese watched her for a moment, then turned back to Sarah.

"You okay, John?"

Reese mentally shook himself. "How long have you known…Ms. Morgan?"

"Not long. She contacted me a couple of months after that little run-in I had with Springer and Butler. All that news coverage had some benefit, after all." She peered at him for a moment. "When Harold called to say that your client needed a ride, it became apparent he and Zoë already knew each other and she agreed to come by to pick her up." She smiled. "So, can we drop you off somewhere?"

"Get in, John," Zoë's said from within the car. "I'll pick up the tab."

He hesitated for a moment, then got into the car. Sarah grinned at him as she closed the door and then quickly walked around and slid in behind the wheel. As he settled in to the seat, he became aware that Finch had been suspiciously silent since the limo had pulled up.

"So," Sarah said, looking at him in the rearview mirror. "Where to?"

Reese was feeling a little unsettled, as if he had lost control of the situation. "Why don't we take Ms. Morgan where she was headed first."

"Well, John," Zoë said with just the slightest emphasis on his name. "I had finished my business. Sarah was taking me home."

Reese knew that the two women were enjoying his apparent discomfiture. He had the feeling the Finch was also finding it amusing. He decided to turn the tables. "Well, then, if Finch doesn't need me…"

"No new numbers at this moment, Reese."

He turned to Zoë. "How about an early dinner?"

Her smile told him what her answer was.

Reese turned to address the woman in front. "Sarah, there's a restaurant on the corner near Zoë's place. You can drop us there."

Sarah gave a quick nod and started up the car. Reese caught sight of a little smile as she turned her head to see if the way was clear.

As the limo eased into traffic, the privacy window went up.

Coda

Divergence

"I think John and Zoë make a good couple," Sarah said from the kitchen.

"I think you're right," Finch said as he put silverware at her place on the small table.

Sarah and Finch never discussed his work. In fact, she hadn't asked anything about Miller's case. But, the relationship between Reese and Morgan, which she had figured out for herself, was apparently a subject that couldn't be resisted. Finch didn't mind. He, too, found that he liked the idea of his sardonic partner building a relationship with someone. Zoë Morgan seemed a good fit.

Sarah finished putting the take out Chinese on plates and brought them to the table. Finch handed her one of the glasses of wine he'd poured earlier and raised his in salute.

"To John and Zoë."

Sarah smiled at his evident good mood and joined him in the toast.

Finch _was _in a good mood. The numbers were still coming – they would never stop – and the odds were that at some point both he and Reese would end up dead in the pursuit of one of their cases. He was never sure when a call from the machine would come. But, at that moment, life was good. He and Sarah worked in as much time together as they could and he had even become comfortable enough to, on occasion, let himself into her place to wait for her, as he had that evening.

Of course, he always checked to make sure he wasn't being followed. And he let her know he would be there. And he always checked her phones and computer for electronic surveillance. But, it was as close to spontaneous as he'd been in a long time.

As Sarah and Finch had their dinner, their conversation was, as usual, about Sarah's work and events in her life. Sarah's friends, Chuy and Maria, had a granddaughter who would be celebrating her Quinceañera in a couple of months. Chuy's son and daughter-in-law, Carlos and Gabrielle, had asked Sarah to drive the stretch limo they were renting for the occasion.

"I don't mind," Sarah said, in response to Finch's question. "I used to drive one for my previous company. I don't really like those monstrosities, but, as you know, Chuy and Maria are like family to me," She shrugged. "So I do what I can to help."

"Why don't you like them? The stretch limos, I mean."

Sarah shrugged. "The cars are alright, I guess. But, the things that used to go on in them…" Sarah looked at Finch, a small smile playing on her lips. "Have you ever ridden in a stretch?"

Finch paused as he poured her a little more wine. "No, can't say I have," he said, setting the bottle down.

"Well, I'll be trying one out in a couple of days, just to get the feel of it again. If you'd like, I could pick you up and we can try it out together." She smiled that little secret smile that never failed to elevate his pulse.

Feigning incomprehension, he said, "Well, I don't know. What exactly would this 'trying out' entail?"

Sarah used one finger to lightly trace the back of his hand as it rested on the table. "That depends on what kind of workout you want to put the car through." She took his hand in both of hers, massaging his wrist. "Some drivers say you need to do a series of quick starts and sudden stops." The massage moved to his palm. "Others say you don't really know how a car handles unless you put it through some rapid maneuvers. Me, I like to start the engine up slowly; get it 'purring', you might say. Then, after I have a feel for how it shifts gears I make it go faster and faster until the engine screams."

Normally, Finch found that Sarah's massages provided enough stimulation. This time, however, he had barely noticed it, he was so enraptured by her words.

Finch looked at her silently, having momentarily lost his ability to speak.

They left the dishes on the table.

Around 11pm, a phone rang, jolting them both from their post-coital doze. It took a moment for them to realize it was hers and not his and then she scrambled to disentangle herself from him and the bedding to grab it.

It was Carlos, Chuy's son.

Finch sat next to her, listening, the cold feeling of dread growing in his stomach.

After she'd hung up, she sat, unmoving, staring at the phone in her hand. She was so still, in fact, Finch wasn't sure if she was breathing.

"Sarah?"

She raised her head and the look on her face confirmed his fears.

There was a silence as the two stared at each other for several heartbeats. Then Sarah whispered, "Oh, God," sobbed once and started to crumple, slowly, as if she were folding in on herself. He held her as she cried, not speaking. After awhile she told him what happened, in pieces between bouts of sobs. He continued to hold her after she'd stopped crying and fallen into a fitful sleep.

Maria had been hit by a truck as she crossed the street near her home. The damage was extensive. She was in the hospital on life support, but the doctors said she was brain dead. The family was gathering at the hospital to decide what to do.

At some point in the early hours of the morning, Sarah's phone again rang, startling them both awake. It was Carlos, telling her that they'd made the decision to take his mother off life support.

Sarah said she should go. Finch agreed, of course.

He asked her if she wanted him to wait there for her. She said she didn't know how long she'd be gone. That she'd probably go over to Chuy's or wherever the family ended up congregating.

After she'd left, Finch cleaned up the dishes they'd left on the table and then got dressed. He'd go back to one of his houses and shower, put on some clean clothes. He'd gotten Sarah to promise to call him later when she had the chance, to let him know how she was doing.

He paused in the act of reaching for the handle of the front door. He stood quietly for a moment, trying to feel the peace and calm he'd come to associate with Sarah's apartment – his sanctuary from the sometimes brutal reality of his life. But at that moment it eluded him. The feeling came, after all, from the woman who inhabited that space. And now, life's brutality had found her.

Finch felt helpless. For all of his resources and money, he could do nothing to help. He couldn't even be with her at the hospital for fear that his presence would cause more harm to come to her and those she loved.

Well, he thought, I'll be with her as much as possible. It was all he could do.

He hoped it would be enough.

Finch opened the door, turned off the light and left.


End file.
